The Awakened: The Unnamed and the Unnamable
by Felicia Angel
Summary: Third and final part in my dark!AU of "The Awakened" game: Holmes and Watson move closer to the truth, while Watson must deal with all that was done to him. Can he keep his sanity as the time draws closer? Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Unnamed and Unnamable

Author: Felicia Angel

Rating: M/R

Character: Holmes, Watson

Summary: Part 3 of my dark AU for "The Awakened". As Holmes and Watson get closer to finding the leader of the group, the information of the cult comes to more light. But how much danger are they in from such a cult and their beliefs?

Author's Notes: Oh, things get really gory at this point on, in a new horror franchise type of way. You know, like "Saw" or "Hostel"? That's all.

-Holmes-

As far as first impressions went, I did not like Louisiana or the wilds of the Americas. In fact, I was downright disgusted by it.

Our first order of business had been to exchange our money, but it appeared from the huge man with the shotgun that the bank was closed, and it took money to find out that a Cajun man named Champange would be the only one who could tell us of what was going on in New Orleans.

Watson had not spoken much, carrying the carpet bag with most of our things, and he smiled at me as, on our way to the Cajun quarters, I muttered, "America, the New World that will welcome you with open arms! Hrmph."

"I didn't want to say anything."

"Have you ever been here before?"

He shook his head. "Only met Americans through your cases or others, but never been to the actual continent. It's quite wild, isn't it?"

I nodded, the two of us heading through the houses on stilts that overlooked the bayou and swamp that someone had long ago thought would be best for a city.

We reached the end of the planks and got to a house where a man with skin that was tanned and lined from work in the sun and humidity sat, tossing a knife onto a block in front of him. As we got closer, two dogs came up, both growling, and one looking ready to attack Watson, or at least the bag he carried.

"Napoleon! Layfette!" the man's voice was a curious mixture of that twang that some Americans from the west had and a deep French one, but the dogs left us alone as he apologized for them, saying they tended to growl at foreigners. I asked about the gem sale, paying for the information and frowning at what I got.

This was getting to be more and more like a wild goose chase, going from one place to another, but each point seemed to hold some truth to this horrid cult and I intended to follow it to the last.

Mr. Arneson could easily be the man that Gygax spoke of, and he used his servant to sell the gems he got from Europe, but without looking through anything I had no data, something I loathed to be without on a case.

"Hey!" I saw Watson attempt to grab a young, burly man as he ran off with…

I knew Watson had held onto most of our things, but our papers were in that bag and we needed them, especially if anyone locally with power was taken into this group for one reason or another. Without another thought, I gave chase.

* * *

-Watson-

I followed Holmes as well as I could, the heat bearable but the humidity not so much, and in truth I doubted that I could have followed the scoundrel anyway, as it was hard enough to keep up with Holmes at times when he was slowing his pace for me.

The result of our chase was rather hectic, as the boy took every shortcut he could as well as every obstacle it could seeming to do nothing more then slow me down, from a tractor suddenly crossing my path to a door that was opened with hardly the time for me to skitter to a stop to figuring out in a moments notice how to get somewhere without hurting myself too badly.

The chase went through most of the Chinese area of New Orleans then through an almost-abandoned factory, I catching up to Holmes as he glared down a somewhat shorter man with a star that said he was the law of the area, two larger men with guns backing him up, and Holmes arguing that he'd allowed our query to get away.

I drew in a breath, still out-of-shape from my months of confinement, feeling Holmes' hand on my shoulder as I said, "Our bag…"

"I'm afraid it's gone," Holmes muttered, glaring at the man before him, "and with it, our papers for being here."

"Indeed," the man drawled, causing me to now glare at him as something like a blue light started to invade my vision and I had to close my eyes against it.

Of all the things to keep from Holmes, the minor knowledge of when we were on the right track, or what might be the right track, was one I was not proud of, and certainly one that I didn't want to keep. The two-day coma had, it seemed, helped me get over most of the nightmares and what was going on, but now being close to what might be another source of the darkness seemed to waken it again, like a sleeping--.

"Yew're Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson?" Oh dear Lord, this wasn't going to go over well. Holmes had warned me that our names could be bad to use, and I hadn't realized he used mine to see what was wrong when I kept myself breathing steady and with my eyes closed…

I straightened, frowning as the small sheriff looked up and nodded towards a pretty blond woman up on a nearby riverboat, one that I had to guess doubled mainly as a whorehouse. It wasn't until she turned to leave that he continued, saying that without papers we were here illegally and he'd give us a chance to simply get on our boat and wait for tomorrow. With that and a laugh, both from him and one of the bulkier companions, the trio left and we headed back towards our boat.

I knew we weren't leaving. Holmes had not allowed the law, both legal and the type that demanded bribes or something equally disgusting, to get in his way and I highly doubted he'd allow it this time.

"Watson," he muttered to me as we started to head towards the French Quarter after getting the idea of what Arneson's house looked like, at least the grate, "what happened?"

"I was out of breath."

"Watson!"

I sighed, looking forward as we headed down the dirt road. "It was just all that's happened, Holmes, nothing more. Don't worry about it, it won't affect me anymore."

Holmes says I'm a terrible liar, and couldn't be convincing unless I believed something was true, hence his deceits before. I have, on occasions, been able to withhold information, or even downright lie, so long as it was what he believed.

He did now, for which I was quite glad. After a moment, I smirked. "Open arms, eh Holmes?"

"Oh do shut up, Watson."

* * *

I frowned as we walked forward, finding Arneson's house easily and I frowning upon seeing a young black maid waiting near the gate. We stopped, pushing the gate (which was locked) and rang the bell, but after a few minutes no one, not even a servant, appeared, and we realized there might be no one there.

Holmes and I looked over and noticed the same girl looking over on us, and with Holmes' small motion she slowly came up, speaking to us.

Her name was Eulah, and her brother, Davy, worked for Arneson but hasn't been seen in nearly a week, when she often would show up to speak to him and ensure he was fine, as her brother couldn't speak but was still smart about things.

Holmes and I convinced her to show us the area where she usually met her brother, and it didn't take but a quick use of his knife to open the stable door, the two of us going in and I closing and locking the door behind us.

I stopped, shaken as I saw an emaciated horse that, upon some of my examination, showed to be suffering dehydration.

The boy had disappeared five days ago. The horse was suffering from no water for what must be five days.

Holmes and I continued outside, a long trail of a dragged body by someone and some blood causing us to attempt to follow it but stopped by a swarm of mosquitoes that were not about to let us pass. We instead started into the house, Holmes starting to follow the trail as I went into the room we determined to be a kitchen and got a pan for the poor horse, filling it with water and removing a small hammer that had fallen under the poor animal.

I was returning to the house as I saw the bluish flash again, shaking my head to clear it as I got a little too close to a local raccoon and it skittered away, chattering at me in an agitated tone.

I went back inside, attempting to ignore the headache and flash off the corner of my eyes, finding Holmes kneeling and examining something on the ground.

"Don't go in the other room," he told me simply as he stood, "I found the gardener…I believe that someone else was killed or badly wounded and their body drug from here, and there is a person hiding in that room over there," he pointed to the room down the hall, and for a second I could see beyond the walls…

"Watson?"

"I'm fine, just the smell...it's giving me a headache. How long do you think the man's been dead?"

He hesitated and finally showed me towards the room, I looking at the body before saying, "He can't have been dead longer then five days, if what we know is true, but the heat has caused his body to decompose quicker then usual. It's something that happens in swamps and areas of high heat and humidity."

Another check around the room only gave us a bottle of champagne for the old Cajun, hopefully for something like a boat into the swamp (as Holmes felt all things lead there) before we went upstairs and explored the man's room.

As far as I could tell, there was nothing in the way of incriminating, and Holmes seemed to agree with me. We did find the key to a room and were about to go there when blue light exploded around me and we heard a woman scream.


	2. Chapter 2

-Holmes-

Watson gripped the railing tightly as we turned and headed down, I taking the stairs two and three at a time as the screaming grew more frantic, Watson all but stumbling after me as we burst outside and headed towards the barn, the whole of it going suddenly quiet, which unnerved me more then the screaming did.

The barn door we'd entered through and where I knew the screaming had come from was barred, my worry for the woman who'd screamed growing as Watson grabbed hold of a log and yelled at me, his face pale and his eyes frantic with some unknown knowledge, as if he could see through the door and knew what was going on.

I didn't question it, I grabbed and we rammed the door with it, two good hits knocking the door down as Watson dropped his end a second before me and ran past me to catch hold of the girl's legs, holding her up.

Eulah had been hung from the rafter, her hair starting to poke out of her cap and her eyes closing despite the new supply of air she was getting. A large and dirty note was stuck to her, with a small amount of blood saying how hurried and uncaring her attackers were, and the fact that she had gotten her hands between the rope and her throat a testimony to her quick thinking under fear.

I helped Watson to get her down and get the rope off her neck as he did a quick check, his face still pale but the odd light from earlier having disappeared as he took the note off and handed it to me before once more checking on the young girl.

_You think the life of a foren detective is worth more then a nigger girl? Last warning!_

I crumpled the paper then put it into our spare back, hoping to use it later if need be, and asking as to the poor girl.

"She's in shock," Watson said simply, "I have to stay with her, Holmes."

"I understand," I said, "I only have to check on the last room, and then I'll return. Take care, though…" Watson had no weapon, and neither did I, which made it all the more of a worry. He had already been kidnapped once, but that time they'd had orders. This time…this time he may just disappear like Arneson and the rest of his household did.

"I'll be fine, Holmes," he said, smiling, "I'll do what I can to ensure they don't get back inside for now."

I nodded, turning and hurrying back inside and upstairs to see what I could find.

It was interesting, as Arneson had a hidden room behind a wall that I deduced could only be opened by standing in a certain spot and shooting that air pistol we'd seen in the safe, though I was able to reproduce it using an iron pole from the garden. Inside I found pictures of a woman who looked very much like the one from to steam boat/brothel, holding a bouquet of flowers that obviously came from the garden. I also found notes indicating that it wasn't Arneson but Ashmat, his servant, who had committed these crimes…though after seeing the sitting room I had guessed it was another servant and that Arneson was a helpless victim in the matter.

I considered it briefly as I looked over the note from the Northwood Detective Agency that poor Amos Colby had belonged to. Arneson and his gardener knew that they would, in the end, have to turn in Ashmat for the possibly stolen jewels. If this was so, then where _were _the jewels coming from, for I had doubts in my mind that Gygax came across a mine while with his patients.

I read through the notes then headed back downstairs, pausing when I saw the young boy, probably Davy, looking out from the one locked room that had been jammed shut. We had to ensure the boy's safety, as well as that of his sister, if we were to move forward and not leave corpses behind us.

* * *

I went back outside, stopping to get the flowers I'd seen in the photo of the girl before going back to the broken barn door, happy to see that Watson and Eulah were unmolested and Eulah was starting to recover from her ordeal, Watson helping her before I came up, saying that her brother was inside the house and I'd appreciate help from her.

Watson gave me a look he usually gives those who over-exerts himself, and which I was on the receiving end of during most of the time before what he called "The Adventure of the Reigate Squires", which I had thought would give me due time to get used to it but, as it varied in intensity and timing, I never quite did and was rather annoyed by this fact.

We ended up inside and Eulah, her voice quiet and scratchy, helped us to gain entrance, Watson now clucking his tongue and seeing to the young man as Eulah watched on, obviously happy to see that he was being helped and alive. In the meantime, I recreated the events for him, the boy nodding and Eulah looking at me with wide eyes afterwards, asking slightly, "But if you was here, why didn't you help him?"

Watson looked over at her and said simply, "Holmes has a way of knowing things, and though he wasn't here, what he saw outside was enough for him to know what happened."

Her eyes grew wider as she looked back at me. "Then you some kind of hoodoo man?"

I gave a small laugh and said, "Of a sort."

Davy was quick to give us the numbers, though in a code as that was the only way he could remember them fully, and after one more check, we sent them back to Eulah's masters.

As we started to go back when we saw the Sheriff and his men appeared, causing us to run all the way back to the dock and I to realize we needed information about the inner room at Arneson's home, as well as some way to get into the swamp at night.

I considered separating again, but decided against it, as I wanted to speak to Champagne myself, and didn't think that leaving him alone didn't set well, though I had to admit that might be something to do with the fact that last time I left him alone, he had to go through near madness before I found him.

We visited the closer boat first, the madam of the boat smiling at us as we walked up. "Oh, why hello my darlin's" she said, moving a little and then brushing her dress a little, "What can I do fer ya?"

I have no idea how to speak to such people, let alone deal with the results, so I tried to be plain about it, but that didn't seem to work, Watson turning red at some of the suggestions before I simply handed the woman the bouquet, saying to give this to the girl she knew would receive it.

With a sniff and a glare, she took the flowers and went inside, arriving back shortly afterwards with the girl that the sheriff had been watching before, now looking exactly as the photo which had depicted her. Her name, we learned, was Lucy, and she and Arneson were sweethearts of a sort. I told her only that we were searching for him and we'd tell her what we found, even though from Watson's look after we left, it was obvious he disliked this deception, or what could be one.

"We've little time, Watson," I muttered as we continued down to Champange's hut in the hopes of obtaining a boat, "and I can't think of anything left for us back at his home. Hopefully this will be enough to gain something from the man."

"He lost his right hand," I looked at Watson sharply as I saw that far-away look in his eyes again. "Arneson. He lost it when his servant was taking him away."

"How do you know?"

He was silent for a long while, then said, "I don't know. I just do."

I frowned at the thought, my mind racing to every possibility before I said, "Then let's go, and hurry."


	3. Chapter 3

-Watson-

The bottle was not enough to gain a ride into the swamp at night with all it's dangers (I had been able to read one of the books in Arneson's study, and the talk of the beast that apparently carried off people and ate them had not been helpful to my current condition), but enough for us to possibly get what we could from Arneson's hidden room and then return. The young woman, Lucy, had mentioned money, and it would be enough to possibly buy a boat for the night, which I knew Holmes intended to do.

The headache and flashes of blue light, as well as insight that I didn't want, seemed to grow as we returned to Arneson's home, happy to see that Eulah and Davy both were safe now as Holmes set out bait to find a way to get the lost right hand from the raccoons that seemed to live there as well and more then likely got drawn to it, not only due to it's carrion nature but also because of the ring that Lucy spoke up.

I allowed Holmes to do the deed, he coming back with the ring that had some blood staining it's otherwise stainless gold surface. I didn't want to think of Arneson's fate if he had lost one hand and not gotten proper medical treatment for it during these five days. It was not likely he would be alive, but then again, if a person disappears for five months, no one would suspect them to be alive either.

Holmes took the money as I took the gun, looked and then loading it with a familiarity and steady hand as I appreciated the cool metal, the effective weapon, and realized that this would serve me until I got my revolver back. I was as good a shot with a rifle as I was with a revolver, but never got a chance to really work on the rifle and preferred the closer range of a pistol.

I had remarked once that Moriarty and Holmes were very much alike, but there was enough differences in some areas that allowed for them to take different paths that caused them to be enemies, and perhaps would no matter what their choice of careers. Moran and I were quite the same in some ways, though I tried to not think of such things if I could. That he put me in such a place and was with a group like that…

With the money and a way to protect ourselves tonight, we started to head out but stopped as we heard the door close and some whispered noises.

"The sheriff!" Holmes hissed, the two of us retreating into the room as we heard the man calling out, "We warned ye, Mr. Holmes!"

"This way," I said, the two of us going outside and using the ladder he'd made to get the ring in a small part of the roof where the raccoons had been. We hurried down the ladder, I tripping and falling the rest of the way, luckily taking the ladder with me as the trio appeared on the balcony, I recovering enough for both of us to get out of the area, I glaring down at my leg as my old wound acted up enough for me to limp badly after Holmes, he stopping to help me along while shots were fired but missed badly on each occasion.

I grimaced at the pain while we hid, waiting then heading back to the old man and buying his small boat, learning which one was Old Sam's Racks before we left, Holmes showing me the note he found detailing how to get to the place.

* * *

It was dark when we got out to the area that was spoken of, I taking the oars and Holmes the lantern as we went alone one side of the swamp. My body was starting to shake with the pent-up energy or something akin to it, as if my body and mind realized what would happen and—

_He was losing blood fast, a tourniquet applied so the Beast wouldn't find them, and neither would the alligators. It was easy, really, but Arneson screamed as the fire hit the stump—_

--I drew in a breath as Holmes pointed out the racks and we started off to find the Demon's Rock, a rock covered in blood that made me shiver, as if I knew where all the blood had come from, could see the men who believed in this hideous version of the truth bleeding over it and calling out to gods that were more demons then deities, insane and hideous representations of life.

I muttered that it was hardly reassuring as we continued past it and to the left, only going a short way before I stopped, pulling in the oars as we drifted towards the tree. I didn't want to turn around, I didn't want to look, I could see it as plainly as if I was looking at it, though, and Holmes touched my shoulder, calling my name as he light fell upon the Jellyfish, the large weeping tree.

Holmes turned and gasped as the light of the storm lantern fell upon it, revealing the hanging pieces that were once human, now decomposing and in various states of completeness, some only a person's arm that was hung, some a torso, but all of them brutally mutilated, none of them complete, the water below them soaked through with rot and blood. More then one was missing pieces from inside, and a few still had eyes open, looking at us through milky white and clouded irises that reflected dimly in the light. They all seemed to scream, to cry for me to help or join them, and I almost put my hand over my ears as I attempted to push this out of my mind, out of me, I didn't want this knowledge, _let me be, please leave me alone leave me alone…_

"Watson," Holmes' voice was silent as he sat near me, I catching his eye and his voice suddenly pushing everything away. "Concentrate on me, Watson. There are some of those horrible prehistoric beasts to our left, blocking our way. We need to get them out of our way."

I thought on what we'd read and found, then nodded, taking the elephant gun and shooting down one of the bodies, all in such a fluid motion that I didn't think myself capable of, my body feeling more mechanical then anything, only following Holmes' orders for the sake of keeping myself sane in this hellish place that we've come to in order to find a lost man and to discover more about those who held me captive.

The body wailed as it fell, a horrible sound of the dead and unnatural, calling to me to save it, to help save it from—

I sat quickly, looking at Holmes as we continued past the rushing alligators and reached our destination.

The small area was littered with trash, filth and human remains, smelling of the mixture that combined into such a putrid smell that it seemed to cancel itself out. Holmes moved forward as I followed, grabbing my medical bag and the gun as I spotted Arneson, his face pale and his clothing dirty, holding one hand to his chest and with a vacant look in his eyes as I examined him, fearing the worst. Sadly, it looked as if I was mostly correct, as infection had started to set in on his hand, which was poorly cauterized and dressed in a worst manner, and with symbols of blood written around his forehead. I rubbed at them with some of the water we had in a canteen and a clean cloth, ignoring a stinging sensation that ran through my arm as I did, but he looked at me with a little more comprehension, which made me feel better until he stiffened at the insane laughter that caused me to turn, raising my gun as I did.

The man who was there was large, scarring evident and most of it, from my vantage point, seeming to be self-inflicted. He ground his foot into the ground, his arms spread and his body language saying he didn't fear us or, perhaps, didn't realize who we were or why we were here. "Do not fight the Calling!" was all I heard as blue light threatened to invade my senses, covering me with the scent of the sea and the visions of that dark city, of flesh torn from bodies and people screaming in horror as they ran and the mountain rumbled, moved…

The man lunged at Holmes, and suddenly the blue was chased away, like a receding tide, and I fired once.

The man jerked back from the force, then fell forward, his back torn and bloody from the bullet's exit. Holmes looked at me as I heard myself mutter, "I'll remain with Arneson. I'll be fine."

Holmes was quick in his search, returning with a book that I recognized from the dream of the bookseller with Holmes' eyes and my novels, and we quickly left the swamp, going back to Champagne's hut as he helped us with Arneson and got Lucy and her madam for us. Lucy cried a good deal, but the fact that Arneson survived spoke of his resilience, which I told her, hoping he heard me, as well as telling her what needed to be done and that he'd require her assistance in a full recovery.

Arneson's throat was too dry to allow talking, but he did reach out to hug Lucy when she came near and seemed to realize where he was, at least. Holmes gave the madam the rest of the money, not only to help take care of Lucy and Arneson but also for Lucy's freedom to care for him. The madam's eyes fell on him and his lost hand, and she nodded. "It's enough. You'd best get movin', else you two will miss your boat."

With another nod and knowing the two lovers would be taken care of, the two of us quickly raced to our boat and our journey back to England.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite my misgivings about the book, as well as my relatively quick deciphering of Davy's cipher, Holmes chose to lock himself in his bedroom in an attempt to understand the book and the archaic writing. I attempted what I could to remain out of my rooms for as long as possible, as being just near the horrid thing seemed to increase my want for the blue crystals that Holmes kept somewhere in our shared rooms, and the thought of having some knowledge, of knowing what we were going up against, of having something of a knowledge that was unknowable to even Sherlock Holmes…

I went to the bar for a drink or more, and stumbled as I got into my room some hours later, thought not due to the rocking of the sea.

I was able to stay upright and was sober enough in my drunkenness to get ready for bed, sleeping through breakfast and almost lunch before dark dreams woke me, my head sobered from fear. The dream had me wondering where I was, the sunlight at least assuring me I was still in Edelweiss, the sound from outside telling me I was at least inside of a ship as opposed to any of those dark areas I'd seen, none of them the city I despised but all horrible in the same way, ancient beyond all human record and decaying, the whole of them unnatural and full of the feeling of a wrongness. I had been aware when the dogs growled at me it was more towards the statue in the bag I carried, but my proximity made me all the reason to be hurt as well.

I did what I could to make myself look presentable and considered speaking to Holmes. If I had a chance, I would possibly be able to get some help from him on this matter—

No, if I told him of anything, of the odd things I'd seen, what would he believe? Would I be placed in another institute? I could not bear the thought of being separated from Holmes again, not after so long of him being dead, and despite the trying case I wished nothing more then to see it through, to finish this so I could put it past me.

I still wanted to talk to him. The inner Holmes had appeared a few times to pull me out of the cities and dark places, but we had not gotten back to Baker Street either and I was afraid of sleeping again.

My body began to have tremors as I moved out and paused, seeing a small glitter from his forgotten coat pocket. Had he left the crystals outside of his room? The last time I used them, the dreams had been dark but not so much like this, and perhaps a few, just one, only one would be enough for me to sleep and forget—

I knocked a little louder then usual on Holmes' door, the thing opening as if of it's own vocation as Holmes paused in what he was doing, like some dance, to glare at me. "I said I don't want to be disturbed, Watson!"

"I'm sorry Holmes," I said, swallowing at the pounding, like drums, began again in my head, "but I've finished my part of the cipher and I need something else to do. I was wondering if perhaps I could help."

Holmes looked me over for a minute then said, "I do need some help for my new monograph."

_That isn't what I want _"What is it?"

"The study of the trajectory and shape upon landing of seagull droppings. _Good day_."

* * *

-Holmes-

It took me a minute before I realized the full implications of what I said and groaned, all but slamming the book shut as I attempted to think of what I knew.

Some unknown force was working with only a minor lead against us, and believed in this nonsense that I was attempting to translate, a book that was part of an older text, I believed, or at least one that spoke of odd rituals for summoning daemons and beasts so old they knew the Earth when it was still cooling. The group, or a person within who was close to that insane Light of Abyss man, comes up with the idea of using a ritual, and learned all of it, including the fact that people from various parts of the world are needed. This cult, as it could only be such, is so spread-out that it has members all over, and with the help of jewels that I'm certain are from some place which might shed light upon the person doing this begins to. He recruits Gygax, a non-believer but one who wishes to have a supply of test subjects, into his cause and tells him his plan. Gygax promises those who won't fight him, and Ashmat promises those from America. Moran promises those from England, employing that "Dirty" Summers character, but when Moran realizes the danger he's in from Adair kills him, and seals his fate, as well as Watson's.

I curse myself again, leaving the room and the book to see if I can find him.

I go to the shared part of the room and start to put on my coat in order to go searching when I feel something and freeze.

I had left the blue crystals outside of my room, possibly in my haste to decipher the book for clues. I slowly reach in and look at the crystals, counting and then calling myself ten types of a fool.

Two are missing, and after shedding my coat as well as putting the crystals into my own room (in a locked drawer), I headed to Watson's room, finding him on the chair, a glass nearly falling to the floor but I catching it in time to stop it from breaking. What had I done in my thoughtlessness?

"Watson," I spoke quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake as his head lulled to the side, almost as if facing me before he muttered, "Holmes?"

I waited for his eyes to open, and when they didn't I frowned. "Watson, wake up."

"no," he mumbled, shifting in his chair, "can't."

"Why not?"

"I have to…find out."

"Find out _what?_"

"…who the person is. The one who fell, the one we're chasing."

I frown, helping him from the chair to the bed as he continued to mumble, a string of words that make some sense to me. The man he's chasing after, or is finding knowledge of (though how I'm not sure), is a young man who was drowning, and saw the cursed island. In his talking-sleep, Watson calls it R'lyeh, a dead city decaying in the ocean until the Time, and the Call, when its lone inhabitant will awaken and seek out it's horrid kin to return, to take us all.

The young man, a noble person, a person who, like Moriarty, was a great mind and great ancestry, was then pulled out of the depths and delivered to Light of Abyss.

I coaxed and pleaded Watson to wake, to stop his journey as the dangers became more and more, as I realized that if he continued this search he might become lost, and then what? It would be my fault, my own fault for speaking to him in such a way, for not seeing that the proximity to that dread book had caused some sort of psychological harm to him after his experience within the Black Edelweiss, and I could never forgive myself—

"_Ajna_."

That Watson spoke, both in a physical reality and within my mind, in such a clear tone and with such suddenness, brought me to a halt in my thoughts. Ajna…the third eye, the chakra that was located on the forehead…and was supposed to be connected with enlightenment, or seeing things that were unseen.

The crystals somehow stimulated him to dream, and dream in such a way that his 'third eye' was activated! But how could I stop it?

He was seeking enlightenment on the case, so he could help me. I had to stop him…by showing him that I was already enlightened, that what he gave me was enough to figure out what we needed to know, and that he didn't need this anymore.

* * *

-Watson-

I heard Holmes' voice at a distance as the young blond man struggled, watching the sacrifice, forced to eat the flesh of the man as Light of Abyss changed, stating to him as if a mantra that all things were just soft, just flesh, and nothing within them, nothing but blood and softer pieces to be eaten by the Great One that would arise…

"_There was a young man who sailed to India and made a fortune. His boat was lost at sea, and all souls believed dead. But he survived, upon seeing a horrid sight."_

I was wrong before, it wasn't R'lyeh, it was a different thing, a monster I could only see the shadow of and, behind me, I could hear a person lose their sanity at the sight of the things, calling out that they were Dagon, the Fish-God, the kin of—

"_When he was rescued, it turned out his followers were part of this cult, and wished to initiate him into their gathering. A Dreamer said it was to be so, and they did it, teaching him their ways."_

I gasped, unable to speak, as I saw hot irons being placed against a struggling young man, a carving like that of the insane Light of Abyss, the Indian who sought to convince me to fall into madness with him, speaking to him of the Great Old Ones, of the Elder Gods and their kind, of the legends from before writing was truly writing, from before language and time and light. He took the young man with him, drugged and hurting and uncertain and always attempting to escape, to Dunwich…

"_The boy soon believed him, and with his knowledge that he retained, he found that a specific date would allow them to find their purpose. Realizing the nearness of this date, he began his plans."_

It was terrible, the madness he had, what he'd seen, and I clung to all that I could in the hopes of not falling into it either. He set it all up and smiled as he found the area—

"_All I need is the location, Watson. After that, you don't have to look anymore. It's all I need._"

The sound was outside and inside, a strange combination that made me see clearly for what seemed like a second, the lighthouse with winged dogs that had no face, the idols of a dark being, a dead caretaker and the light suddenly disappearing.

Everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

"Watson" "_Watson_"

Leave me alone.

"_Oh, like that will happen._"

Holmes?

"Watson?" "_You need to wake up, you know."_

Why?

"_If you don't, I think I'll be very put out."_

But what else could I do? I had already fulfilled my purposed, hadn't I?

"Watson, please wake up." "_Of course you've not fulfilled a purpose. Don't act as if all you are is a tool."_

Then what am I?

"Watson?" "_You're Holmes' only friend. You must see this through. Would you have that man win? Would have Chaos rule the world when you could stop it?"_

It was bright, and I blinked twice before I saw Holmes' face hovering over me, the worry obvious in his eyes as well as the relief. "Oh, thank God."

I frowned, looking to him as I attempted to sit up but he stopped me, and I realized I'd had yet another black out due to those crystals.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, Holmes looking over at me before saying, "Oh Watson, it was my fault. I'm sorry for what I said, for what must have made you take them."

"No, no…I'm alright, Holmes. I swear."

He allowed me to sit up, piling up pillows to ensure I didn't fall back, and I considered asking how long this time.

"Only a few hours," Holmes said, "but still enough to scare me. Watson, I don't want you to try that again. I'll destroy the crystals if I have to."

I smiled at him. "I swear I won't. I don't…I don't think I feel the need for them anymore." Indeed, I felt much better then I had in days, and I sighed as I looked back to him. "I'm sorry about interrupting you."

Holmes blinked, then patted me on the shoulder. "I'd rather be interrupted then have to lose you, my dear friend."

I would like to say that I was able to stand up, but instead it took me another few hours until I could get out of the bed and ring for some food. Unluckily, Holmes had returned to the book until I knocked on the door, when he stopped and came in for dinner.

"Are you alright?" he asked as we sat.

"I feel better when you're not working on that book," I told him truthfully, "I don't know why, but just it's presence unnerves me."

Holmes didn't open the book again until we returned to England.

* * *

-Holmes-

I have a name, and I have a location, and with the news in the papers, I know that despite wanting to unpack and rest, if even for a day, we must travel north, to Scotland and the wreaked ships. I know that this will tear more at Watson, and perhaps that's why I'm grateful for Lestrade's company this time.

I stopped long enough to refresh myself at Baker Street then headed for the dockside bar, where I was able to retrieve a photo of Lord Rochester, the one who had disappeared many years before and who, I would have to guess, that Watson had seen in the dream.

I still felt the anger at myself for what I caused him to do, for the fear I'd felt over what those crystals had done to him and what they still could do to him.

Lestrade came over after I determined the location to be Ardnamurcham from a map of the Scottish coast, and upon hearing of the odd statues, I knew it was the right one. Watson had spoken of this place, and now all that was needed was to go in…but we couldn't raid it. It was only us three, and whatever we did, it would have to be enough to stop the now-insane Lord Rochester.

Watson was looking over the photo as Lestrade and I entered, standing and handing it back to me as we did. He had recovered during the trip back, but had been unable to handle the book despite everything, which is why I finally handed the task of decoding it and the much-used page within to Barnes, who probably had more practice at such languages then I. Lestrade was brought on due to it returning to his jurisdiction (to a degree) and with Mycroft's influence to help him in. I was grateful, as at least it was someone to help Watson and myself if we ran into trouble.

"I honestly dislike this whole business," Lestrade muttered as we got everything together, himself and Watson carrying pistols, "ancient cults, mind games, raising some leviathan to devour the world…it's just too insane…"

"I agree," Watson pointed out as we left Baker Street, "but they believe in it, and it makes them very dangerous."

"I know," Lestrade said, "that's what I dislike more then the ideas."

* * *

-Lestrade-

Of all the nights to summon your chosen demon to destroy the world, it couldn't be one that was just a moonless night or something equally romanticized, but also one with storms, the pieces of ships around us, and a light that omitted a dark green color which made it harder for us to find our bearings, though was light enough for us to see the people leaping from the top of the lighthouse as the sea swallowed them.

"Oh God!" Watson yelled as one of the people jumped, the trio quickly heading onto land, though it wasn't dry, and ran towards the door, of course finding it not only main entrance locked but also barred from them entering. Holmes looked around then yelled, "It seems we must take the path of pirates!"

"WHAT?" I yelled as Watson said, "Holmes met Barnes because he had a good book on pirates. One of them was from this area…" he pointed as Holmes stalked off to gather some half-rotten rope, "and said from three mouths, you walk towards the ram."

We moved close enough to see that the rocks did, indeed, make a motion of a ram, and quickly stalked forward, silently counting out the steps until we reached a rock that Holmes and Watson moved out of the way with a crow bar.

I looked dubiously at the rope that Holmes was tying to a nearby rock. "This is a very bad idea, Holmes!" I shouted over the wind.

"I'm the lightest, so I'll go down first, then…" he paused to consider us both and I very nearly pointed at Watson, though I disliked that idea. He had regained some of the weight he'd lost during his imprisonment in the disgusting institute, but it was obvious that it was a close call between which one of us was the lightest.

"We'll discuss it _when _you get down," I said, shifting as he finally nodded and started down, both I and Watson shouting upon seeing him suddenly fall the last few feet, though luckily landing well enough that nothing, including the important storm-lantern, wasn't harmed. He shouted up for us to get shelter and attempt to send him down the iron bar, but as luck would have it, the damned thing got stuck and we were left to wait outside in what little shelter there was near the many openings, waiting for word from Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

-Holmes-

I had been lucky to have the storm lantern in tact as I looked through the caves there, finding the remains of the distillery and pirate hideaway, as well as what had happened to the various former occupants of the area.

My mind was racing as I had to run to and from the area, finding a few things to help me and to possibly help me cross the gorge nearby. The longer I took, the more likely it was that we'd be too late. I was not normally a superstitious person, but after what had happened to Watson and the things he'd seen, I had to believe that there was enough truth in it to fear what could come of the events that were happening.

I had not mentioned that the fall had hurt like the devil, running on adrenaline and my own fear of what might happen should the demented followers of Lord Rochester and his master decide to leave the lighthouse, but I also bet that none of them thought they could be stopped, or that we could enter.

It was as I was attempting to cross the makeshift wooden walkway a second time on my way back that it broke, and I let out a curse as I landed, the lantern apparently deciding it'd been abused enough and plunging me into darkness while I fumbled briefly for the makeshift torches that I had decided to bring along just in case of said problem. Once I had light again, I carefully got myself out of the small hole and continued forward, happy for the matches Lestrade had sent down. Watson, it seemed, was getting nervous about something and Lestrade was worried about the whole thing, I could tell from the brief conversation.

I cursed a few more times as I moved forward, mostly when I was delayed by a puzzle involving a wheel and again when I had to retrieve a small peg-leg in order to make it into the pirate's inner sanctuary. Of all the stupid…

I took the cutlass that was in better shape then everything else, save the jewels, and continued forward, having to stop and call up to Lestrade for yet another favor, this a mast or something to cross over a large divide with. I was glad to see Watson helping with it, and said I was about to get into the lighthouse and for them to wait nearby.

Watson answered down. "Hurry Holmes! I fear the sea is rising, and it is not from the tide!"

With that in mind, as well as the thought of perhaps drowning before I reached my goal, I raced forward, climbing up the broken and formerly hidden passage to the lighthouse, gagging as I entered and breathed in some of the foul air before I opened the door and stumbled out, my vision blurry and Watson holding me up, enough that I could tell he was shaking.

"Good God, that stench!" Lestrade coughed as Watson, who helped me a little ways away, said, "It's a type of poisonous incense. We cannot go further without dousing it, and I fear kicking the buckets over will do little."  
Lestrade, with a nod, raced over as I collected my breath, returning with a sloshing bucket of water and dousing the closest burner.

"Well thought!" I said before a wild shot made us duck, looking up to see a man in dirty clothing, blood and a fez waving a gun about and shooting wildly at us through the remaining green mist.

"Oh, well played and thought indeed, gentlemen! AHAHAHA! It seems that poor Mr. Arneson survived, hrm? Of course, if you are here, then he must have, for you have the Dreaming Doctor, who heals all but himself! AHAHAHA, well, he shall not get any further without realizing that Dream we all see, without heeding the Call of all that truly Believe, of Ashmat the True Believer who shall see that City and the Great One when he wakens!"

Both Lestrade and Watson took cover, the two taking turns shooting as I picked up the bucket, stating I'd take care of the remaining buckets, working from as close as I could get to Ashmat (and finding the way to the stairs) before heading back the other way, holding in a shudder as I saw the covered faces of those that had been sacrificed on the bottom of the lighthouse as I concentrated on living so as to save all I could at the top of this death trap that offered light in the darkness for lost ships and had been turned to sinister purposes.

The last shot was drowned out when I dropped a large crate on the final bucket, sending Ashmat fleeing upstairs and the rest of us scrambling around the overturned furniture and strange symbol, which Watson stayed clear of and which neither I or Lestrade seemed inclined to go near. We were halfway up the staircase when we stopped to take stock in what we had.

Lestrade growled out a low curse before saying, "I'm out of bullets."

Watson opened his own and sighed. "I have only the one, and the way he's moving and with what he's saying, it's too hard for me to concentrate, Holmes. I could give it to Lestrade…"

"I'm not as good of a shot as you are," Lestrade argued back, then looked to me as I thought. Ashmat had said he was a true believer, and what I knew of his beliefs was from that worn book. I also knew at least one spell, one which would put any believer to sleep or make demons leave his mind, though I hesitated to use it on Watson as I didn't believe it was demons but actually a rather harsh wakening of latent power that caused him such pain near these things.

"Stay here," I said, "if his strength is his commitment to his religion, it'll also be his downfall."

"Holmes," Watson muttered.

"If you hear that infernal language, do you truly believe you'll be alright?" I asked.

He shifted, obviously displeased but after a glance to Lestrade, who looked confused, said, "Hurry. I'm getting even more of an uneasy feeling about this whole thing."

With a nod, I hurried up, finding the two things I needed, a blank board and some fresh blood, at the top, making the marking and holding it above me before speaking and, at the end of my sentence, happily hearing Ashmat's garbled gasp before he keeled over. I tossed the board to the side, then motioned for the two that everything was clear so far.


	7. Chapter 7

-Watson-

I felt dizzy as we moved further up, as if the closer I got to the person I had dreamed of, the person who's life and descent into madness I had been privy to, so much so that my mind still reeled and attempted to forget the horrors, I knew that I might not be of any help to Holmes or Lestrade. The one bullet, if anything, would be for myself should they fail, for I knew that if I held onto myself enough and the demon was brought forth, I would be under the same madness as Lord Rochester, and I couldn't allow myself that.

Holmes lead us up the winding staircase that lead higher and higher to the darkened heavens, and blow us I could hear the sea pounding against the rocks where we once were and the side of the lighthouse, shaking the ancient stones and structure as we stopped, opening a door before a tall, crazed Hindi came at myself and Lestrade, closing the door behind us as the other, a scruffy man with a glint of silver on his eye and a ball and chain in his hands confronted Holmes.

The three of us took a hard tumble down the stairs, Lestrade getting free first but I falling with the wrestling Hindi before we landed, I hearing a tell-tale snap that spoke of a broken neck, and felt him go silent. The poor devil was dead at one of the junctures of the staircase, and above me I heard someone shouting then fall before, a few minutes later, both Lestrade and Holmes came down the stairway, Holmes glaring at Lestrade.

"At least you _know _where the key way, and he wasn't exactly going to comply with us, was he?" Lestrade muttered as I looked up at Holmes in confusion.

"The key to the door upstairs, which is where Rochester is," he said, pointing to the dead man, "is apparently in his stomach."

I sighed. "Can you force the door?"

Lestrade shook his head. "Apparently the man said it was reinforced."

I stood. "Alright then. I'm the doctor, so I'll get it."

"Watson."

"Holmes, give me the bloody cutlass."

He frowned at me only briefly before handing it over, and I had to clamp down on the sudden idea of killing them both, of stopping their investigation and going upstairs to join Rochester, to join him and sing, sing for the Great One, C—

I cut into the Hindi, breathing out as I did and swiftly getting the key out for Holmes as the three of us continued up, leaving behind the cutlass and bodies, Holmes stopping to read a few things on a desk before we unlocked the door and walked in.

I staggered as we did, Lestrade starting to grab at me as my mind realized what it was that I heard, translated what I saw, showed me the ones who only spoke as Gygax wished them, those who spoke out of fear and drugs, and all of them pushed by song and fear and drug and animal knowledge towards the edge, the opened piece of railing as the sea swarmed around us, raising like the leviathans under it, the dead and sanity-destroying Dagon, the great city of R'yleh and Cthulu, the Old Ones and Yog-Sloggth who sired unholy beings in Dunwich, the city under the sea that joined with land along the coast of Innsmouth and the horrid beings it created, and stars that brightened and fell, being of such odd grotesque beauty that could see into all of us and recorded our history before leaving humans back, out of time and remembering nothing save for what people said occurred, mountains of ice and rock and ancient material that hid the madness behind it but were so twisted with the foulness and now-unnatural state of things that they couldn't be natural, that all forms moved from them…

"_You have been to Afghanistan, I believe."_

The madness spiraled backwards on itself as quickly as it began with that sentence, with all that lead from that sentence, with every statement that had been made and was to be made by my friend and fellow lodger and the world's only consulting detective.

"_Watson, if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case then it deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you._"

All of it was madness, but so was what I saw when I went with Holmes. So was the war I'd survived through, the campaign against citizens who refused rule outside of their own, the fight over a country with no true resource save it's people and the fact that poppies that turned into opium grew there. So was all that I'd seen as a medical man, from cases that lead to death and even cases that didn't, the diseases that sought to destroy humanity and which killed hundreds, thousands, the disease that I had survived through the hot climate of India, all of it was madness and yet I accepted it. Why could I not accept, as I accepted Holmes' deduction and all that I myself saw, that such things could rule the world for the span of time allotted?

My mind rebelled against the insanity, the madness, for that was life and who was I to go insane now, when Holmes was alive again and he was not insane, when Lestrade was here attempting to stop the flow of people from jumping as Holmes yelled at Rochester and he yelled back, singing out the words of Cthulu.

Then came understanding in the madness, as clear as Holmes' list of deductions to a point, as clear as summer skies in the country, a sudden bell ring or even when I found the diagnosis of a disease that we weren't sure about.

_Rochester miscalculated! This is not the time for the song!_

In madness was sanity, and I was tired of being scared of it, tired of hearing such insanity from one who accepted it in such a callous manner. I would not strive to know what the Old Ones were because that would lead to being tainted by them. I was Holmes' companion and best friend, his fellow lodger and chronicler, the one who had captured the tiger-hunter Moran and who had survived those cursed blue crystals and an abusive institute. I was John Hamish Watson, formerly of her Majesty's Army and had survived Maiwand and the march back, survived all that the natural and unnatural world threw at me, and I would not stand for someone who felt his royal blood held him above others to lecture Holmes on something.

I would interrupt the song, and I would do so with my clear thoughts and conscious.

"Holmes!" I shouted over the rain and crash of the waves, causing him to suddenly glance at me, a look of uncertainty and fear in his eyes as I strode forward. I do not know how I looked or what I must have said to have him be so fearful of me, or how I looked then, but I was determined to put an end to Rochester's madness and Holmes' useless arguments towards him. Rochester would listen to me only because of what they forced me to see, and I knew that Holmes could figure out a way to end the song. He needed to work on that, not on a pointless argument!

"You must stop arguing with this false Dreamer!" I shouted when I reached him and stood off, blocking the hole down towards the much-closer sea, "He knows nothing of what he's doing, is only spouting nonsense because he thinks he believes but doesn't! It's all a game to him!"

Holmes looked at me as I motioned to the light, he nodding and going inside as Rochester, failing to notice this as he looked around and out in his madness then back to me yelled back, "What do you say? You know the truth, you've seen what none of us have! You dare call me wrong?"

"I have seen R'lyeh, the city under the sea! I saw what you didn't, what you thought you'd seen but was instead the place of the Fish-God, the demented and ugly beast worshiped by Innsmouth and others like it! You've no idea what you are singing, and the One will not hear your call!"

"LIAR!" Rochester yelled as he jumped down, attempting to confront me as Lestrade was able to stop the remaining sacrifices, "This is the time for the Call, for all that must happen! This is all right!"

I glanced at Holmes briefly, seeing that the light was ready, then told Rochester the truth that I had become aware of. "You are off by years, Rochester. The light of these stars are wrong, and you will never see It rise, or the kin return to Earth. It is high time you say the light of the situation."

The lighthouse's bright light illuminated us, showing Lestrade and the remaining group inside, Holmes walking up, and that the sound of the sea was really just a storm.

"All was for naught," Holmes said, "your chorus has gone in and the being you were preaching to will not listen."

"No…no! I will join my master, I will find him! I am loyal to you, and you will deliver us, Great C—AH!"

With the last words, and despite our efforts, Rochester jumped into a dark shape he saw, which instead crushed him as the last great wave broke hard against the lighthouse, causing more then one of the former singers to yell in fear before the water receded, though we were stranded for a few more hours until boats came to check on the relit house and retrieved us as the tide went out.

It was the worst storm in centuries, and I had no dreams until it was over.

* * *

It took months of bad dreams about the case that caused me sleepless nights for almost every night before I had a good night's sleep, mostly due to a talk to Holmes who warned against trying to forget it on principal, as we weren't sure how many more of such cults there were and if they wouldn't return. I admitted I had thought of writing the whole adventure, but instead wrote up another version of Moran's capture, saying he had returned and helped us. Holmes had smiled at it, and after a glance and the horrid statue that, sadly, continually returned to our possession no matter how many times I asked either Holmes or Mrs. Hudson to throw the thing away or break it, finally spoke up about something that obviously had worried him as well.

"Watson," he finally ventured, looking out the window as he spoke, "do you hate me for what I did? For leaving you alone?"

"I understand the danger that was present, and I am annoyed you felt that keeping me in the dark about such a thing and causing me such anguish deserves a good amount of punishment, but in truth, I do forgive you for it. I cannot think that three years of not being yourself, of staying away or not being able to write anyone besides your brother, the only one high enough to be safe, could be easy for you. So I do forgive you some things. I would ask, though, that you never deceive me again in such a manner, for I would not be able to stand it."

He nodded, then asked, "What happened in the lighthouse?"

I frowned at the question. "What do you mean?"

"You all but fainted, and were speaking gibberish for a while, as if uncertain who to follow or what to say. I was certain you'd gone insane as well until I heard what else you yelled at Rochester."

I shifted at the mention then said, "In a way, I did. But such things, I reasoned, were meant to do it, as war or even, as some would say, living with you could cause a person to go. I found I had no reason to go mad at horrific sights when others that had made so many people go mad or die had happened to me and only shaped who I was. So I let it shape me into a person who understood them, those dark things I had seen. I cannot with a clear conscious say that I'll be able to keep my head if faced with the beings face-to-face, but I do know they exist, that others summon them, and that most of the world is ignorant of their existence and happy. But I also know it's the wrong century for them to return, and for that, I'm quite grateful."

Holmes studied me for a long while, then nodded. "I am as well. And I'm quite glad to have you back with me, Watson."

I nodded, then paused at the hectic knocking at our door before it opened to a rather disheveled young solicitor with a very grave problem.

But that is the story of a builder in Norwood, and well-documented. This one, I believe, shall never be published, for who needs to learn of the horrors awaiting the right call before they are awakened?


End file.
